


this map won't get you home

by smilebackwards



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Planet, Gen, Geographical Isolation, POV Alternating, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 21:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilebackwards/pseuds/smilebackwards
Summary: “McKay—” John said, and just had time to see the horrified looks on Rodney and Teyla’s faces before there was a sucking sound and he was falling, off balance.





	this map won't get you home

John shaded his eyes as the team emerged on P5F-456. 

“Oh no,” Rodney said, squinting at the bright sun. “Colonel, we need to go back. The sludge the military has the gall to call sunscreen is completely inadequate. I have some SPF 100 in my lab.”

“Relax, McKay,” John said, putting on his aviators. “These ruins you wanted to look at will have some shade, right?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so,” Rodney said, mollified. He pulled out his tablet. “They should be this way. There’s a faint power reading.”

The ruins were less than a mile from the gate; a mess of twisted metal columns, overgrown with moss and leaning somewhat precariously against each other, surmounting a half-collapsed building of pale stone. Rodney’s mouth pinched in irritation as he glared at his schematic and said, “Oh, that’s just great. The control room is gone.”

Teyla looked more optimistic. “The spires are not unlike those on Atlantis. Let us see what remains inside.”

John nodded at Ronon and they entered first, clearing a wide, empty entrance hall before waving for Rodney and Teyla to join them. 

There were pictographs on the walls, etched murals of planets and space. Rodney made a vaguely interested humming noise and took out his camera to film documentary video as they walked. John stuck close to Rodney’s side so he’d be between him and any sudden hazards. A good portion of Atlantis DV watched like shaky-camera horror films: a team member peacefully filming, sometimes with added David Attenborough-esque commentary, and then screams and dropped cameras. 

“The power source is just ahead,” Rodney said. They walked through an open doorway into a room with a metallic wall on the west-facing side. Sunlight beamed down through several large holes in the ceiling, illuminating the room like spotlights.

“Looks like ‘gate symbols,” Ronon said, looking at the etchings on the wall. 

Rodney handed his camera off to Teyla so he could dig through his pack for a scanner. “They do,” she agreed with Ronon. “Perhaps they are addresses that were important to the people who lived here.”

Rodney was reading results off his scanner. “I thought so. This wall is made of naquada. If we could melt it down, we could power the generators for years.”

John thought Archeology would probably stage a revolt. Elizabeth might let them chip away a few pieces, but only if they were really starved for power at some point. He started to walk the length of the wall. If these were ‘gate addresses, there were a lot of them. John remembered reading a report about one of the first ever Stargate missions, to Abydos back in the Milky Way Galaxy, where they’d found something similar. It had been a pretty big deal. But the Ancient database back on Atlantis likely already had these addresses documented. 

John felt an odd cool, tickling sensation. He looked down at his his hand to find it suddenly limned with shimmering blue light. “McKay—” John said, and just had time to see the horrified looks on Rodney and Teyla’s faces before there was a sucking sound and he was falling, off balance.

John caught himself against a wall. But it was a new wall. In place of the ‘gate symbols, there was blocky Ancient script. John’s team was nowhere to be seen. He had a visceral flashback to being trapped in the time dilation field on the Ascension planet. At least he was carrying his pack this time.

Keying his headset, John said, “Rodney? Do you read me?” Silence echoed back. “Teyla? Ronon?” Nothing.

_Shit,_ John thought. Looking around, the layout of the room was mostly the same. Maybe there’d been some sort of transporter and he’d been brought to another section of the ruin. He traced his hands down the wall, hoping for a cut out or hidden panel. No such luck. _Okay, Plan B._

John retraced the route they’d taken through the ruins. At the entrance, he stared up at the sky in dismay. It was full night, the sky filled with unfamiliar constellations, in place of the bright afternoon when—where—he’d been with the team. John thought sitting down was probably a good option right about now. He pulled out his canteen and took a drink, wishing it was the wine they traded with the Thenarians for.

After a few minutes, John forced himself back up. Craning his neck, he looked up at the ruins. They really were a matched set to the ones on P5F-456, although these ones looked slightly less lost to the elements. There was a short, boxy annex off to the north that John remembered being only rubble; Rodney’s missing control room. 

John walked over toward the intact control room and jumped as the door slid open, splitting in half and retracting into the wall the way the doors on Atlantis did. Power was a good sign. He entered the room cautiously, P-90 leading. Power could also mean inhabitants or some kind of caretaker.

Low emergency lighting glowed dimly along the edges of the room, growing gradually brighter as John entered further. There was a console like the one Chuck manned back in Atlantis, a sort of three-tiered piano with crystals in place of keys, and beside it, a plinth that glowed differently from the emergency lighting; red-orange instead of blue-green. 

_I bet I know what you are,_ John thought, reaching for the release. Slowly, the plinth extended upward, revealing the ZPM at its core. John let out a hard breath. He could practically hear Rodney making covetous noises. 

Of course, the ZPM was really only useful if John could get it back to Atlantis. John rearranged his pack to make room for the ZPM and wrapped his mylar blanket securely around it. If the ruins were mostly a match for those on PF5-456, maybe the Stargate was in the same place too. He could meet the team back home in Atlantis, with a present for Rodney in tow.

John turned on the flashlight on his P-90, hitched his pack back up on his shoulders, and headed east.

-

Rodney stared slack-jawed at the wall Sheppard had just disappeared through. He dropped his tablet and lurched forward, running his hands along the wall. “Did he touch anything?” Rodney asked Teyla, rushed. “I didn’t see—”

“No,” Teyla said, shocked. 

Rodney grabbed the camera from her hands and rewound the recording twenty seconds. It had been pointed toward Sheppard only obliquely. Rodney could see a slice of his boot. There was a blue flash. Rodney paused the playback. 

Ronon was crowded up over Rodney’s shoulder. “Looks like an open ‘gate,” he said. 

It had, Rodney thought. The blue splash of a wormhole. But there was no Stargate. Plenty of naquada, plenty of addresses, but no ‘gate. He turned to Ronon. “Go back to Atlantis and let Elizabeth know what happened. I need…” He didn’t know what he needed. “Tell Zelenka I need the spectrometer and the Ancient particle gauge.” This was the time dilation field all over again. But then at least they’d known where Sheppard was. 

Ronon nodded and sprinted out of the room. 

“And a bolometer!” Rodney yelled after him.

Teyla pulled Rodney gently back from the wall. “We will find John,” she said quietly and did the forehead touch thing with him that she usually reserved for Sheppard. 

Rodney leaned back and tried to breathe.

-

So. The Stargate was in fact in roughly the same location as the one on P5F-456. But because this was the Pegasus Galaxy and nothing could be that simple, John had a new problem. The DHD was missing. 

There was a slightly discolored patch of grass where John had expected the DHD to be so it had probably been there are some point. Where it was now, if it wasn’t buried in a dozen pieces around the planet, was anyone’s guess. There was a well-beaten dirt road off to the south. John was feeling like he could use some help right about now. If he couldn’t have Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon, sympathetic villagers would be an acceptable trade off. Although, they might not be particularly sympathetic if they’d been using the ZPM John had stowed in his pack.

John started walking, a chill running up his spine. Night always tended to lend a spooky stillness to any landscape but there was something almost sinister about the silence in the air. Not even the Pegasus not-crickets prevalent on most planets were chirping.

After miles of silent walking with crop fields on either side, small houses with thatched roofs started to appear. John tried knocking softly at the threshold of one and the door opened at the pressure of his knuckles. Not a great sign. “Hello?” he called. No one answered. On investigation, all the rooms proved empty. 

The other houses were the same. If John were an optimist, he’d consider that the village was nomadic, but this was the Pegasus Galaxy and he knew what a culling looked like. Aside from that fact that the village was deserted, the ground was scorched and the acrid feel of desolation lingered in the air like an echo. John was pretty sure that if anyone survived, they weren’t coming back here.

John’s missing DHD was in the middle of the town, covered in dust and dirt. Four of the dialing symbols were cracked, including the backwards 7 shaped one that was the second symbol in the Atlantis address. One more item to add to John’s growing list of Not Encouraging Things. He tried the symbol on the off chance it would still work despite the damage but it remained stubbornly dark. At least all the symbols for the Alpha Site looked undamaged. And there were other friendly planets John could try if it came down to it.

A hardened black ring of something like concrete encircled the bottom of the DHD. John didn’t think re-transplanting it back closer to the gate was going to be an option unless he miraculously found a jackhammer. Someone had wanted the damn thing to stay right where it was.

He pulled open the control panel to look for any signs of internal damage. John didn’t know a hell of a lot about the inner workings of DHDs—usually he had Rodney for that—but he knew enough about them to know when a control crystal was missing. It was the slightly green-tinted one on the far right that controlled dialing in.

The local populace had probably taken the crystal out in an attempt to keep the Wraith from coming through the Stargate. A good idea, but the decimated village behind John was proof that a hyperdrive-powered hive ship could come wipe out your planet all the same. And for John, no dial-in control crystal meant likely no help from Atlantis. Even if he could get a message through to the Alpha Site, they wouldn’t be able to dial back and send in reinforcements in the form of scientists who knew what the hell they were doing.

He was going to have to get out of this himself.

John didn’t waste much time looking for the dial-in crystal that’d gone MIA. Maybe the villagers had secreted it away somewhere or maybe they’d smashed it against a rock. Either way, it was doubtful that he was going to happen across it.

What he could do was dial out. He could dial the Alpha Site and…sprint several miles to the gate in the thirty eight minutes before the wormhole closed. John had to sit down for a minute because that was a really bad plan and it was also the only one he currently had. Hell, at least Ronon would be proud. John set himself up in one of the abandoned houses and settled in to sleep on it. 

In the morning, John used the DHD to dial the Alpha Site three times in a row. Miles away, he couldn’t tell for sure if the gate even turned on, but the familiar symbols stayed lit for thirty eight minutes before fading. He wouldn’t be able to get a radio message through without a MALP, but it would be weird enough for someone to investigate. Maybe Rodney would come up with some genius solution for getting John off this rock while John was still training like he was preparing for a marathon. 

Right after the third dial, he took off toward the Stargate at a sprint to see how close he could manage to get before the wormhole closed. Thirty eight minutes later, he stopped, winded, and stuck one of his knives into the dirt of the road to mark his position. John walked the rest of the way to the Stargate. He judged the distance at less than a quarter of a mile. That was a gap he could close, John thought, grateful for all the pitiless, crack of dawn jogging trips Ronan graciously dragged him on.

Carrying the ZPM would slow him down, but that was an easy fix. John could leave it at the base of the Stargate. Right at the finish line for him to scoop up.

John made his way back to the village and unwrapped a Spaghetti MRE. He had two weeks worth in his pack, which was SOP, plus an extra Beef Brisket that he always kept on hand in case he needed to sell McKay on something, but it might be worthwhile to see if there was anything sprouting in a the surrounding crop fields. And he’d definitely need a source of water. There’d be a well or stream somewhere nearby if he was lucky. 

John didn’t like to think where he’d be in a few days if he wasn’t.

-

Rodney was still camped out in the ruins on P5F-456 when Zelenka finally showed up with his spare laptop and the bolometer no one had been able to find the day before. 

“Finally!” Rodney said, snatching the bolometer from Zelenka’s hands. The Ancient particle gauge had revealed elevated levels of bosons and gravitons consistent with ‘gate activity, but the spectrometer readings had been less than worthless.

“Rodney,” Zelenka said, unperturbed, “odd thing has happened at the Alpha Site.”

Rodney glared at him. “Do I look like I have time to go to the Alpha Site and fix someone’s incompetence?” He was perfectly fine here fixing his own problems. This was the second time he’d lost Sheppard in as many months.

Zelenka gave him a look that was something between unimpressed and pitying and apparently fully capable of taking the wind out of Rodney’s sails. “Fine, what?” Rodney said.

“The Stargate. It created a stable wormhole three times, consecutively, but with no delivery.”

“Well did you dial back?” Rodney asked, pointing the bolometer at the naquada wall. It wasn’t immediately promising. No red-orange Sheppard-shaped hot spots inside the wall.

“Yes, of course,” Zelenka said, “but on our side, the wormhole would not stabilize.” He opened his hands, palms facing each other, and then pushed them apart, like a bubble popping.

Rodney considered. It would have been an oddity on it’s own, but combined with Sheppard’s disappearance, there was potential for added meaning. If Sheppard couldn’t reach Atlantis for some reason, the Alpha Site was the next logical relay. The Stargates weren’t exactly built for easy Morse code delivery but it could be some kind of SOS.

Or it could be completely unrelated. Rodney’s chances of success in finding Sheppard were exponentially higher working from P5F-456, his last known location. “Take Simpson to the Alpha Site and get some more readings if it happens again,” Rodney said. “I’m staying here.”

“I thought you would say this,” Zelenka nodded. “Here, I brought you these as well.” He pushed half a dozen chocolate chip powerbars into Rodney’s hands. 

Rodney thought about Sheppard, stranded somewhere with a dozen shitty MREs, and swallowed hard. “Thanks,” he said, thickly.

-

John established a routine. Every morning, he’d dial the Alpha Site. _Good morning. I’m still alive. Help._ Then he’d stretch, pick a direction, and run. 

Most of the planets they explored tended to have only one main settlement, a result of generations of populations decimated by the Wraith, but if John could find just one person alive, he could stop running and get them to dial the DHD for him while he _walked_ through the freaking Stargate. 

Taking his runs outward also let him get the lay of the land. He’d discovered both a clear, running stream and a well with potable water near the town. Unfortunately, the surrounding crop fields lay fallow. _All or nothing luck,_ John thought. Plenty of water, but no food. A ZPM, but no way home.

John didn’t really enjoy the fact that Plan A was still a full out sprint for the Stargate, but after a week of unwished-for solitude, it was looking like the only real, viable option and he figured he might as well commit to it. He started making all his runs north toward the Stargate, his thirty eight minute marker moving slowly closer. 

-

Ronon dropped a bundle of firewood in the middle of their makeshift camp and looked at Rodney, eyes fierce. “Anything?”

Rodney opened his mouth to say something cutting. 

Teyla put a calming hand on his wrist. “There has been no further progress,” she told Ronon.

Teams of Marines had swept the ruins from top to bottom, twice, and scanned ten miles out around the perimeter for good measure. Teyla and Ronon had gone over every inch again in the past weeks. Rodney, for his part, had drilled a two foot deep hole through the naquada wall, mostly out of pique, and run a hundred scientific scans and tests, all to come up with ‘Ancient transportation glitch that I can’t replicate’.

Sheppard wasn’t in a pocket dimension, he wasn’t out of phase, he (probably) wasn’t dead. He was just gone.

Rodney wasn’t dealing with it well per se. 

He’d reached a detente with Elizabeth where he’d come back to Atlantis every three days for a proper shower and a Science department meeting about any new potential crises cropping up. Luckily, Rodney had trained his staff that he would show them the true meaning of crisis if anyone interrupted him with something like the malfunctioning HUD on Jumper 4 while he was doing something as important as trying to rescue Sheppard. He, Teyla, and Ronon rotated so there were always at least two of them on P5F-456 with the home fires burning.

According to Zelenka, the Stargate at the Alpha Site had started turning on more and more often, not just every morning. Rodney wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but aside from being slightly ominous, the activations still seemed pointless. No messages had come through, no useable ‘gate data. 

And no Sheppard.

-

On days that John couldn’t face the monotony of running back and forth from the Stargate to the DHD for the negligible benefit of shaving a few precious seconds off his time, he visited the ruins that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. 

There had to be some clue, some rewind, reverse, undo, that could get him back to P5F-456 the same way he’d arrived.

John never quite learned Ancient—usually things turned on for him without the manual—but in the writing on the consoles and along the wall he could pick out a few words like _transport_ and _delivery_ so he felt pretty comfortable blaming the Ancients penchant for experimentation for the hiccup that stranded him here. Not that that was particularly helpful to his current predicament. If Rodney were here, he’d probably press a few keys on the control console and John would be home free. With John’s luck, he’d end up throwing himself out an orbital space ‘gate.

Unless he broke an ankle or suffered some other catastrophic setback, it wasn’t worth the risk. Another nineteen seconds shaved off his run time and John’s low tech solution was going to get him home too. 

_Slow and steady,_ John thought, and dragged himself back to the village for another try.

-

Rodney adjusted his pack on his shoulders as he picked his way carefully through the evening-dark ruins. He’d gotten used to carrying around the pack on missions, but most missions didn’t involve triple stuffing it with MREs and medical supplies and just about everything in their camp that hadn’t been nailed down. If this worked, either Rodney and Sheppard would be back in a snap or they’d both be stuck wherever Sheppard was now.

Rodney had replayed the moment Sheppard disappeared in his mind a thousand times and used the documentary video—what little there was—to triangulate Sheppard’s exact position. Right about… _Here,_ Rodney thought, positioning his feet. 

Setting his electric lantern on the ground provided a circle of pale yellow light. He shifted slightly to the left, then to the right, forward and back, testing the ground for pressure plates or oddities. If there was something activated only by a natural ATA gene, there wasn’t anything he’d be able to do about it. Except maybe convince Carson or Lorne to come try their luck.

“Rodney?” 

Rodney jumped, almost kicking over the lantern. Teyla was peering at him along the beam of a flashlight. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing? I’m, I’m— What are you doing?”

“I am looking for you,” Teyla said, reasonably.

“Well I’m—” 

Rodney saw the realization dawn on Teyla’s face, her expression fading to sympathy. “Rodney,” she said, gently.

“I left a note,” Rodney pointed out. It had been quite poignant. Full of words about friendship and noble self-sacrifice and _if we’re not back in two hours, for the love of God call Zelenka and keep trying to rescue us._

“John would not want you to risk this.”

“He’s not here to object,” Rodney said, chin tipped up stubbornly. But the reality was it didn’t matter what Sheppard did or didn’t want. Rodney was in the right place, replicating the variables to the best of his ability, and he was still here on P5F-456.

“Come back to camp,” Teyla said. “I will make tea.”

Rodney sighed and picked up his lantern.

-

It had been eighteen days alone on Planet Solitude and John could feel himself starting to lose it a little. He hadn’t chosen a rock to name Wilson yet, but he found himself turning to make comments to Rodney every so often only to realize he wasn’t there. John had lived in some isolated places in his life, but even the Antarctic base had been staffed with a skeleton crew.

Even more worrying, was the food situation. John had one MRE—Rodney’s Beef Brisket—and a pile of root things he’d scavenged from one of the empty houses in town that he was hoping weren’t poisonous. Rationing wasn’t particularly conducive to the punishing physical training regimen he’d set himself. Running burned a lot of calories and John had never had body fat to spare.

On his last run, John had been only thirty yards away from the Stargate when the wormhole closed. The current weather was clear, the wet rain spots from yesterday’s short squall dried up. _This time,_ John thought, _this is it._ He locked in the first six symbols to dial the Alpha Site and took a deep breath, setting his feet in start position. John started the thirty eight minute countdown on his watch, punched the seventh symbol, and ran.

John’s boots beat out a steady rhythm against the road as he passed quickly out of the town. Flat cropland whizzed by in his peripheral vision. _Breathe. Pace yourself,_ John told himself. He’d set a marker approximately every mile and his watch showed he was making good time. 

When his lungs started to burn, John thought about Atlantis. The stained glass windows of the gateroom and the wide, shining sea stretching away from the balconies. Rodney in the physics lab. Teyla on the mainland. Ronon in the gym, beating grinning Marines black and blue.

John’s whole life was waiting, if he could just get back home.

The Stargate came into view as John rounded a bend into the home stretch. He was only a hundred feet away and the wormhole was still shimmering blue. A quick glance at his watch showed 37:42. He could feel a second wind. He was going to make it. 

John threw himself into the wormhole, hooking a foot around the ZPM cradled securely inside his pack in its strategic position in front of the ‘gate and kicking it through with him in a move that would have Rodney screaming, _delicate, Oh my God, ZedPM, delicate!_

As John careened through the wormhole, he could almost feel it closing behind him. He tumbled out onto the grass of the Alpha Site in a series of awkward somersaults, too much forward momentum to stop gracefully. When he finally came to a halt, flat on his face, someone shouted in Marine voice, “Stay down!” 

John could always tell the new ones who’d really taken Bates’ training to heart. He spit out a mouthful of grass and said, “At ease, soldier.”

“Sir? Colonel?” someone else said, and John figured it was safe enough to uncurl and push himself up to his knees. Matsumoto and Peterson appeared on either side of him, hooked his arms over their shoulders, and hoisted him fully up to his feet.

“Thanks,” John wheezed, trying not to pass out. His lungs were burning like fire. He’d imagined his grand entrance going slightly more gracefully. At least he’d be able to walk into the control room on Atlantis on both feet.

“Is this yours, sir?” Sergeant Gonzales asked, picking up the bundled ZPM.

“Yep,” John said, reaching for it. “This baby’s going to make me very popular.” Although he already seemed pretty popular. More Marines were starting to gather around the ‘gate, grinning. In the main camp, someone shouted, “Hey! C’mere! Colonel Sheppard’s back!”

Zelenka’s head popped out of a tent. “Colonel! _Chvála bohu!_ We have been very worried.”

John glanced around for his team instinctively, before realizing there was no real reason for them to be there. 

“They are still on the planet,” Zelenka said. “Ah, P5F—”

“—456,” John finished. But it had been weeks. He was surprised they weren’t back in Atlantis. Rodney could run any tests from the safety of his lab. John started dialing the DHD. He’d just grab Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon and they’d all go back to Atlantis together like they should have in the first place. 

“Sir,” Matsumoto said quickly, before John stepped back through the wormhole. “We’ll come with you, sir.” Beside him, Peterson nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay,” John said. Maybe they were a little skittish about losing him again. An odd feeling bloomed in his chest and he rubbed at it with his fist. 

P5F-456 wasn’t sunny anymore. The trees around the Stargate looked a little faded, like autumn was starting to roll in. John took a drink from the canteen Matsumoto offered him. He probably should have let himself take a breather before ‘gating back out, but John wanted to see his team. They were waiting. John hadn’t even been able to send proof of life. He knew firsthand how, with that kind of waiting, hours felt like days.

Half a mile later, the ruins came into view. There was a familiar camp at the base of them. Ronon was sitting on a stump near the center of the campsite, carving something with a knife. John tried to call out, but for some reason his voice wasn’t working. 

It didn’t matter. Ronon’s head snapped up and he saw John. His knife dropped into the grass and he said something John couldn’t make out but which resulted in Teyla and Rodney quickly appearing out of one of the tents. Then Ronon was barrelling toward John. If John could’ve run that fast, the time he’d spent stuck on Planet Solitude would have been counted in minutes, not weeks.

“Hey,” John said, his throat opening up, and let himself be pulled into a crushing hug.

-

“Sheppard,” Ronon said loudly, from outside the tent where Rodney was running another fruitless test while Teyla ground _keppa_ leaves for tea. 

“What?” Rodney said, scrambling out the tent flap. “What?”

Ronon was running up the slight slope of the trail that led back to the Stargate and at the top—at the top was Sheppard. 

Rodney stared at him, dimly aware of Teyla slipping past him and jogging after Ronon. Sheppard looked mostly the same as when he’d disappeared. He was still in his uniform, pack slung over his back. It was hard to tell from a distance but Rodney thought he looked thinner. Rodney felt rooted to the ground. All this time, and Sheppard had made it back to them on his own. 

Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon started back down the slope to the camp. There were two Marines flanking them that Rodney hadn’t noticed at first. That probably meant Sheppard had been to the Alpha Site. If he’d gone back to Atlantis, he’d be trapped in the infirmary; Elizabeth wouldn’t have let him just leave back to the planet he’d disappeared from in the first place. 

Up close, Rodney could tell Sheppard was definitely thinner. His hair looked a little shaggier but he’d kept himself clean-shaven. 

“Hey Rodney,” Sheppard said. The smile he’d been sporting started to dim a little, like maybe he thought Rodney _wasn’t_ ridiculously glad to see him, hadn’t spent every waking moment of the last three weeks searching. Rodney felt whatever held him frozen break.

“Where the hell have you _been?_ ” Rodney shrieked, practically molding himself to Sheppard’s front in what probably looked more like an attack than a hug. His team would understand. They’d become the kind of codependent friends that Rodney used to side-eye skeptically. “I ran a thousand tests on these Ancient hell ruins and of course, _of course,_ you were the only one that could make them throw you onto some other planet or timeline or—” 

Sheppard patted Rodney on the back. “Got you something,” he said, like he’d been on vacation and brought Rodney back a kitschy souvenir, and then he reached casually into his pack and pulled out a goddamned ZPM.

Rodney fell on it like a starving man. He’d need to run some tests, but from the full-fleshed color of it, he’d say the ZPM was at almost maximum charge. “What— How?”

Sheppard shrugged. “Found it.” 

If Sheppard hadn’t just returned from a three week period where Rodney maybe, occasionally, gave into the despairing thought that he was dead and Rodney would never find anyone else to stoically rescue Atlantis and watch Babylon 5 re-runs with him, Rodney might have been tempted to punch him in the jaw. “Found it _where?_ ” 

Sheppard scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “Could we go home now, Rodney? I’ll tell you all about it, I promise.”

“Fine, yes,” Rodney said. He pulled a powerbar out of his pocket. “Eat this. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“Charmer,” Sheppard drawled, rolling his eyes, but he bit immediately into the powerbar Rodney noted with satisfaction. 

They broke down the camp quickly. _Good riddance,_ Rodney thought vengefully. The ruins had been far more trouble than they were worth. 

At the Stargate, Rodney surreptitiously hooked his fingers through one of the straps of Sheppard’s pack. Beside him, Ronon and Teyla had the same idea, with less reserve. Ronon slung a companionable arm around Sheppard’s neck and Teyla tucked a hand into the crook of his elbow. No transport glitches this time; they were going through in a single packet, a package deal. 

Sheppard cleared his throat and Rodney didn’t mention the shine of his eyes or the roughness of his voice when he said, “Let’s go home.”


End file.
